Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series), James Samuel [most read books in the world of all time TXT] 📗

Rasgado looked back at Alex. “Your boy is smart. Where did you find him?”

Alex’s jaw hardened.

“That would work. It’s been done before with other secretariats. Why couldn’t it work here? Yes, if you can step up your attacks, and I castrate the defence forces, the media would put pressure on the president. His approval ratings would fall, and he would need to do something to look decisive.”

“That isn’t a bad idea.” Alex rubbed the bottom of his chin. “As long as Quezada agrees. We’d need to arrange another meeting.”

Rasgado scoffed at the idea. “If you think I’m taking a chance by meeting you again anytime soon, you can think again. This will be my one and only meeting with you gentlemen. If I’m discovered, everything is lost.”

“But Mr. Rasgado –”

“Enough,” he snapped. “Quezada will agree because he’s a businessman and he knows what’s good for him. Quezada can contact me again and tell me his answer, but I already know he will see sense. Gardoqui.” Rasgado jabbed a finger at his assistant. “Come, I think we’re done here.”

Rasgado and Gardoqui left without another word. Alex collapsed into the sunken armchair in deep thought as the door slammed.

“Alex –”

“Not another word, Fernando.”

“But he thought it was a good idea.”

Alex looked up at him. “Yes, but that mouth will get you into trouble one day. You have no right to be making deals in Quezada’s name.”

Chapter Eleven

Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, Mexico

Much of rural Mexico consisted of burned earth, mountains, and scrubby little trees lining dirt roads to nowhere. Diego stopped at the side of one of these nameless trails.

“Get him out of the car.”

James had already confiscated the narco’s weapon. He lifted the narco up by his torso, opened the back door and dragged him onto the ground. The man’s wounded leg left bloodstains smeared across the otherwise pristine black leather seats.

Diego climbed out and opened the trunk. He pulled out a shovel and tossed it on the ground. He threw out some cable ties and dropped a huge garrafon of water on the ground. The psychological torture had already started.

“What’s your name?” James placed a boot on one of his ankles.

“Fuck you!”

James sighed. The narco wanted to prove his manhood by resisting. He’d seen it all over the world when interrogating people.

Diego didn’t say anything as he tied the narco’s arms behind his back and bound his ankles. Hogtied, he couldn’t go anywhere.

“Nobody will hear you scream.” Diego crouched next to him. “We’re as far away from civilisation as you can imagine. You’ll talk or you’re going to die here, and they’ll never find your body.”

The narco threw a headbutt from his seated position. It didn’t make it anywhere near Diego’s head. Diego responded with a straight right hook. The narco’s nose exploded, his lower face turning a dark shade of red.

“Not smart. You know your mama will never find you, right? Your brothers, your sisters, your parents. They’ll never know what happened to you. We’re so far from Dolores they won’t even know where to start looking.”

The narco went quiet. Diego’s words had hit their mark. He understood the importance of family in Mexican culture, so he knew the one way to provoke even the most masculine of Mexicans.

“What’s your name?” asked James.

“Alejandro Vega.”

“Good. Alejandro, you have a choice today. You can live or you can die. All you have to do is give us some information. Who we are and why a gringo and a Mexican want that information is irrelevant, understand?”

Alejandro nodded.

“Your boss Quezada recently kidnapped a girl called Jessi Montoya. You heard of her?”

Alejandro nodded. “I don’t talk to Quezada, though. I’m just a falcon. I only hear about these things through other people. You need to talk to a lieutenant if you want to know more.”

“We know,” said James. “Then you’ll tell us what you’ve heard. Jessi Montoya is big news and Quezada wouldn’t be able to keep that quiet for long. It was a major victory for your cartel.”

Alejandro nodded.

“Then tell us.”

Diego moved behind the car and busied himself with something.

“Look, man, I’ve never met Montoya.”

James rolled his eyes. Every interrogation always started the same way. Nobody knew anything and the victim always pretended they were deaf, dumb, and blind.

“Fine. Diego.”

Diego returned from the back of the Land Rover with a flat board elevated on stubby legs. James threw their hogtied captive onto the table and stretched him out on his back, save for his tied hands pressed into his lower back. Alejandro struggled and cursed.

“Hold him down by the shoulders,” said Diego.

James did so. He knew what was coming. He’d carried out the same interrogation technique many times. It always worked in the end.

Diego pulled out a piece of cloth and tossed it over his face. No matter how much Alejandro moved, he couldn’t shift the long cloth from his mouth, nose, and eyes. He picked up the small garrafon of water and pressed his knee into Alejandro’s stomach.

Slowly, he dripped a thin stream of water over the cloth. James looked away at the horizon. He didn’t want to watch Alejandro struggle as he experienced the sensation of drowning. His airways blocked up as more water tumbled onto the cloth.

Diego whipped the cloth from Alejandro’s face after a few seconds. “Talk.”

“I don’t know nothing,” Alejandro shouted through his heavy breaths.

Happily, Diego repeated the waterboarding again and again. Each time he put the wet cloth back over Alejandro’s face, the stream of water grew longer and longer. By the time they reached the third round, Alejandro twitched and bucked. He’d started dry drowning. Much more and they would suffocate him.

“You